


Super Secret Boyband or Why Tony Should Read His Memos.

by Katefkndoes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Gen, Super Secret Boyband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katefkndoes/pseuds/Katefkndoes
Summary: I am going through my computer and found this fic that I wrote around the time that Winter Soldier came out.  And I figured, why not share the crack.The Avengers are a team of fledgling superheroes who are working under cover as a boyband.This is completely unbeta'd





	Super Secret Boyband or Why Tony Should Read His Memos.

Being born different is never easy.  Being born with a sting of medical issues more extensive than even the top military doctor’s know how to deal with is unimaginably difficult.  Being bullied every day in grade school because you’re just too ill to do the things that normal kids take for granted can seem like hell for a kid.  Add to that a father who had died before he had any time to teach his son how to behave, and a mother who struggled not to show just how concerned she was every time he caught a cold, and it was a wonder the young man had managed to reach adolescence without the aid of a child psychologist.

Most teenagers have a tendency to believe the world is out to get them at some point, their bodies so chocked full of hormones they can barely think straight.  But for Steve Rogers, his myriad allergies meant that it almost literally was. When the doctors offered him a way out, he had begged and pleaded with his mother to accept.  His medical bills weren’t getting any smaller and his mother was already struggling to keep up with the mounting debt. The treatment, though experimental, seemed almost like the answer to their prayers.

The serum was supposed to relieve his medical conditions.  The Doctors were convinced it was going to cure his asthma, improve his eyesight and make him normal.  Of course, that wasn’t at all how it turned out. Initially, there was some doubt whether the procedure had been successful because nothing about his work up appeared altered.  However, as the months passed his maladies gradually began to ease and he started to catch up with all of the classmates who had already hit puberty.

Starting High School at a more respectable height should have made things easier – but it didn’t.  He was still an outsider, the one sole individual whose body metamorphosis was not attributed to hormones.  Time went on and he found himself not only taller than most of his classmates – the people who bullied him – but also broader with a physique that had the Junior Varsity coach chomping at the bit to include him on the team.  Those who had tormented him in his formative years looked upon him with fear tinted expressions, and those who had taken pity on poor skinny, sickly Steve looked at him with contempt as people started to notice when he walked in a room.

Nevertheless, he had shied away from their shallow interests, and continued his personal battle to build a somewhat normal life for himself. Being born atypical had been hard enough, but growing up into a glorified laboratory experiment was unimaginably testing.  The military doctors ran a barrage of tests on him every month for over three years, and if he hadn’t told them that maybe he was stronger and faster than guys he had no right to be, that was his choice. He hid his differences from everyone besides his mother, constantly checked his increasing strength and agility and continually wondered what the hell he was.

Graduation came and his mother’s health deteriorated rapidly, he morbidly wondered whether she had only been holding out for his eighteenth birthday.  One deferred year at college and she was gone – taken by the same weak lungs he had inherited. Following his mother’s death, he kept himself to himself, got an apprenticeship as an illustrator and a job as a barista to pay his bills.

By the time he was twenty, he had a firm grasp on his own abilities.  Sure it sucked that he couldn’t get drunk without blowing his entire month’s rent but he could run the length of New York without breaking a sweat.  And he had to admit it was pretty cool that he could bench lift a car. For most people such abilities would have bought arrogance and maybe a bit of bliss, but for Steve it was a burden.  Every day, he was forced to make decisions that directly affected other people’s lives, all while trying to maintain a normal life. During his time in university he had created a persona so bland that no one would remember him, he kept his appearance deliberately nondescript and helped where he could. 

He wore thick framed glasses to change his appearance and folded into himself as much as possible when he walked the city.  He kept himself under the radar and tried to make a normal life.

But the truth of the matter was that he was only truly happy when he was helping other people and no matter how much he tried to console himself with a normal life, what he really wanted to do was be a hero – which was how he met Nick Fury and how The Avengers were formed.

 

***

Nick Fury contacted Steve having reviewed his old medical files, apparently although the army had been quick to brush their (supposed) failings under the carpet, there were those in the government who could read between the lines.  The building was an unassuming red brick in Brooklyn, but inside the décor was far from homely, clinical might have been a better description but Steve just felt cold as he was ushered upstairs by a stone-faced brunet in a black suit.

“Good afternoon Mister Rogers.”  Nick Fury stood to greet him, and Steve blinked several times.  He had been expecting an overweight, balding suit what he got was  _ not _ what he was expecting.  “I’m Director Fury, and I’m pleased you could make it.”  He held out his hand and Steve shook it after a beat. The man was tall, dark skinned, with a patch where his right eye should be and scars to prove that it wasn’t just for show.  Rather than the suit, he paired a long leather jacket with a dark jumper. Fury smiled, but the action seemed to pain him somewhat. “Shall we get started?”

“Uh, I guess.”  Steve shrugged. He had been enticed to the meeting with a spiel detailing how his country needed him, but the specifics had been carefully omitted.  “Thank you for giving me this opportunity,” he added, remembering his manners. Fury nodded in thanks.

“Steve – can I call you Steve?”  Fury asked.

“Sure,” Steve replied.

“Well, Steve, I’m going to get straight down to the point.  I’m putting together a team and I’d like you to join.” Steve blinked several times.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“You may think you have been subtle in your exploits but I can assure you that SHIELD sees all,” the Director paused anticipating some interjection from the young blond, but when it wasn’t forthcoming he continued his explanation.  “I can offer you a way to do what you want to do… what you were made to do. I know all about your special skills and, like you, I believe it would be immoral not to utilize them.” Steve opened his mouth, but shut it quickly, he pursed his lips and his eyebrows knitted together in consideration.

“Go on.”  He leveled.

“We would be putting you undercover – in a manner of speaking – and utilizing your skills when needed.”

“You’ll forgive me if I still don’t follow.  You’re talking as though I’m some sort of spy – I can assure you I have had no formal training and I really can’t see…”

“You will receive intelligence training and some assistance in polishing your unique style of fighting, but what you have been given is a gift.  Surely you can appreciate that being able to bench press a car is an advantage in such things.”

“I never told…”

“You didn’t have to Mister Rogers, we have been watching you for some time and we are more than aware of your capabilities.  And might I add the trick with the garbage can lid on the car jacker was  _ very _ impressive.  I’ve seen men twice your age with years of combat training that would not have been so quick to react.”  Steve blushed slightly, and shrugged. “I can understand why you might have reservations, but trust me this is going to work out for the best.  Here at SHIELD we can offer you a stable income and all the resources and training that you could ever need. We even own an art gallery as a front for one of our Manhattan operations and I’m sure they’d love to see some of your work.”  Steve had to admit that the offer was more than generous, and although he was naturally suspicious there was something about the Director that put him at ease. Given his somewhat nomadic lifestyle and lack of a family, there was no reason why Fury could not have just ripped him from his bed and locked him away for experimentation.  So really, a job offer was pretty generous.

“What are the terms?”  He looked the other man in the eye.

“You can sing, right?”  A raised eyebrow was the only answer he received.

***

The sun was high in the sky peering down on the dreary Queens building, which was to be the first meeting place for all the members of what was to become the World’s biggest selling boyband, and represented the offices of SHIELD’s new music management company, Armor.  The company was overseen by Nick Fury, but the day to day business was taken care of by Phil Coulson and Maria Hill. Those three alone were the only ones who understood the true importance of their so-called boyband and the difference it could make on the world.

For several months they had been separately molding five young men to their precise needs, and they were finally ready to bring them all together.  The ‘auditions’ had been a long process and those in charge were getting impatient for results. The record deal had already been arranged courtesy of Stark Industries’ music division.  A small fortune had been arranged for the promotion of the band, but it would all go to waste if the five men could not get along and they needed this to work, and they needed it to work today.

The three oldest of the men arrived early, with none of them being from New York they had been put up in a hotel, and though they were more than old enough to be left unsupervised Coulson had insisted on their earlier arrival.  Which was probably for the best, as the driver who had been sent to pick them up had been informed that the hotel had had several complaints about the noise coming from their respective rooms. Two hours passed in awkward apprehension before either of the two younger members of the group made their appearance.

Meanwhile, down on the street, a ruggedly handsome man crossed the busy street and approached the less than glorious looking building, dodging the taxi driver who seemed more interested in heading downtown than following the rules of the road.  He muttered several choice curse words and waved his hand in annoyance as he escaped the road and headed in to meet three of his fellow bandmates. He knew he had been the first one that Armor had approached, although he suspected that was largely because he was the sole heir to the Stark fortune more than his own talents, and as such he had met with several other people, all of whom had completely failed to gel with him.

The exception to this general rule had been Bruce Banner, a somewhat scruffy looking brunet, who had a gravel-toned voice and a laid back attitude that Tony liked to poke at.  They had gelled from their first meeting, and between them they had rejected a kid called Peter because he was just too musical theatre and a college graduate called Hank for being a terrible human being.  But Tony had heard really good things about the two men Bruce had spent most of the last couple of days with, and though he was unsure of working with a man who sounded almost as self-assured as he was, Bruce’s texts concerning Sam Wilson had been highly complementary.  Plus, his fellow geek had assured him that once Clint opened his mouth and sang that Tony would lose any inhibitions he may have had. It was finally beginning to feel as though things were falling into place.

Now, in Tony’s opinion, four men were more than enough for a band – for a male vocal harmony group, - however his managers had felt otherwise.  That was where the mysterious fifth person came into the picture. Neither Tony nor Bruce had been told much about their potential fifth member.  In fact, all the young billionaire had been told was that the fifth member offered a slice of irresistible apple pie American goodness, which filled Tony with dread.  It was almost shocking how wrong Armor had managed to get it with Peter and Hank, and honestly, Tony didn’t think his temper could stand suffering through that hassle again, all he wanted to do was get to work.  Get a lot of sex and maybe make a decent album.

He sighed again as he walked into reception, not bothering to remove his aviators.  Much to his annoyance, there was not only a receptionist there, but also a man waiting to escort him up to the meeting room.  Though he was familiar with this sort of service, he still couldn’t help but think it was unnecessary. His father had been an over controlling asshole, and the last thing he needed was to suffer through that again.  He flashed the receptionist his patented Stark grin, before rolling his eyes in the manner of a petulant child and following his guide to the elevator.

“Hi, I’m Jasper.”   _ What the hell kind of name is Jasper? _  “Jasper Sitwell.”  He smiled. The young billionaire smiled in return, despite his initial annoyance.  It would do no good to piss of anyone until this whole thing was a done deal.

“Tony,” he replied, “but you already knew that.”  Sitwell nodded in acquiescence.

The lift gave an ominous lurch, jolting both of them enough to stagger slightly, but then continued on its way to the penthouse.  Tony wondered whether his latest potential writing partner was already there, or whether he would have to sit around and wait for him.  He had arrived late because he hated waiting, but what if the man was tardy? That would hardly be an auspicious start to their future band.

All too soon the lift arrived at its destination, and Tony was walking towards the familiar – if overly shabby-looking boardroom.  He knew it was hardly the Ritz, but would it have killed them to give it a good lick of paint? It wasn’t as though Stark Industries would have denied them that.  Hell, he was pretty sure  _ his _ company would have shelled out for new digs – ideally ones downtown.

When news got out that he was forming a band he was certain there would be a barrage of questions, and he would fake a smile and say that he had always dreamed about being a singer.  However, the truth of the matter was that Howard had always hated when he sang, he hated that his wife had forced his son to take dance classes and learn piano because he saw it as a distraction from important work.  As far as Howard Stark was concerned, Tony was little more than a conduit for his own genius. But the truth of the matter was that Tony’s intelligence had surpassed his father’s long before his (tragic) death, and even though the board members were clamoring for him to revolutionize the course of telecommunications, he just couldn’t find the inspiration.  And yeah, maybe part of it was that he liked knowing that his actions would have  _ infuriated  _ Howard.

Knocking himself from his reverie, he took one deep breath and followed Sitwell into the drab room.  He was immediately greeted with fervor by a large blond man, who took his hand in a vice-like grip and shook it so hard that it almost dislocated Tony’s shoulder.

“You must be Anthony,” Tony cringed visibly at the use of his Christian name.  “It’s good to finally meet you, man. Sam Wilson.” The guy had arms that looked deadly, but that didn’t stop Tony from running his mouth.

“Tony,  _ just _ Tony.  No one ever calls me  _ that. _ ”  He replied derisively, Sam momentarily faltered, but regained confidence quickly and slapped Tony on the back – harder than strictly necessary – and sending him stumbling towards the other unknown man in the room.

“Clint Barton.”  He stated, eying Tony with some suspicion before breaking into a massive grin.  “At least we won’t have to scrimp on the videos.” He clapped Tony on the back, (Tony had apparently missed the memo about aggressive physical contact), and shook his head as if in disbelief, “Tony Stark, man.”  He said to no one in particular.

Tony rolled his eyes.  He preferred Anthony to being a Stark.

It was going to be a really long day.

 

***

Across town, another, perhaps more special, individual was running more than a little late for the same meeting.  It had become the story of his life over the last few years. He was, by nature, an extremely punctual human being, however the world around him had other ideas and everywhere he went someone needed his help. 

Sometimes, a lot of the time if he was honest, he wished that he could live a more normal life, and he didn’t have to rely so much on the secrecy of others.  Most people were grateful for his assistance and he tried to hide his identity as much as possible. However, sometimes it was impossible not to show his face, and there was always the chance that someone would let slip what happened and that someone would make a story about it.  No one knew the true extent of his differences – with the exception of Fury’s men – but that didn’t mean they couldn’t work it out.

He missed his mother deeply; sometimes he wondered what she would make of what he had become.  By the time he was just beginning to get really, really strong she was already grasping to the last moments of her life.  He knew that she would be proud of the man he’d become but that didn’t make her loss any easier to bear.

Lost in a wave of reverie, he had almost walked straight into a road sign.  Today, was definitely not the day of nostalgia, he observed. After the slight deviation of thoughts, he ran quickly, steaming through the street and strategically avoiding the people that walked in his path.  Within a few minutes he found himself outside the address he’d been given. It was, to be kind, a bit a disappointment but looks could be deceiving, as he had already discovered when he first met Nick Fury.

Just as he was about to enter the doorway towards the rest of his life, there was the subtle scrunch of something metal giving way.  Nearby, a young man was changing his tire; his baby sitting in her car seat next to him on the pavement, crying softly and distracting him from the job at hand.  Evidently, he failed to hear the sound of the jack giving away, it broke just as he got the final nut in position, but Steve caught it quickly and set it down so quickly that the man looked perplexed at what had happened.  He stared at the broken jack for a few seconds before his attention was caught once more by his daughter – if he’d noticed Steve he didn’t say.

Steve looked at his watch, and let out a frustrated groan.  There had been nothing but trouble since he had left home, and now he was running stupidly late, which was a  _ great _ first impression to be making on his would-be band mates.  Quickly he brushed off his hands, straightened up his pants and checked shirt combination, and hoped to God that he still looked something that classed as decent.  He adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and pushed a stray piece of blond hair out of his eyes.

He sighed again, and walked briskly through the revolving doors and straight into the underwhelming lobby.  There was a brunette receptionist who raised an eyebrow in an almost predatory as he walked in. In return flashed her, his most charming smile in an attempt to hide his own discomfort and blushed slightly at the interest.  It wasn’t as though he was unaware that he was (now) appealing to the opposite sex, but he did not particularly relish being openly ogled.

“Steve Rogers, ma’am,” she smiled and the woman nodded, reaching for her phone to inform her boss that his client was there.  However, the blond man intervened. “Don’t bother, I like making an entrance.” He flashed her another bright smile, pushed his glasses further up his nose as he hand slipped away from the phone.  “Thanks.” He added, as he headed towards the stairs. “Top floor?” He guessed, and she nodded in a muted response, before adding.

“You might want to wait for the elevator, its ten stories up.”  Steve smiled again, not wanting to rouse any unnecessary suspicion but knowing he could make it there just in good time on his own.

“Yeah… but I could do with the exercise…” she looked unconvinced, her left hand reaching to tuck some stray hair behind her ear – a sign of sexual attraction he was about to use to his advantage.  Lowering his voice, he spoke again, covering the short distance between them in a few quick steps and leaning over her counter. “Shall I let you into a little secret?” She giggled, actually giggled.  “I just wanted to clear my head... just didn’t want you thinking I was some sort of coward.” He offered her a wink and stepped back from the counter as she grinned from ear to ear.

With that done, he headed over to the stairs, and only quickened his pace once the heavy door was shut behind him.  He reached the top without losing his breath, but still took a few moments to collect his thoughts before he ended the room.  Being different, for the most part, was a privilege, and he remembered all too well what it was like to be sick all the time. He remembered shaking in bed, living his life vicariously through Bucky, and he was grateful for the abilities that the serum had bought him.  However, he was aware that once he stepped through the door, he would be placing a lot of trust in Fury’s unconventional wisdom – one step wrong and he would be dissected like the science experiment he really was.

Still, his choices were limited.  He had to help when he could, and it had become increasingly difficult to keep a low profile.  If SHIELD had noticed his extra-curricular activities, then it wouldn’t be long before someone more dangerous figured out what he was capable of.  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, as Bucky used to say. 

That considered, over the last few years his abilities had developed almost exponentially, and though he was more than capable of looking after himself before, he had excelled at the training SHIELD had provided to the point that he was confident he could take on even their best men should the situation arise.  Plus, if he was injured under SHIELD’s care, he could be sure of first class treatment – and drugs that would actually work to numb the pain – so there were benefits to his decision.

Shaking his head, a physical action to clear his thoughts, he took one deep breath and steeled himself for his first meeting with his band mates.  Fury had warned him that the team was hardly conventional, that there were likely to be teething problems, but that he was confident that they could become America’s best convert operations team.  After all, who would suspect a boyband could be a covert operations team? Crazy as it had seemed at first, Steve had to admit that there were certainly benefits to the plan. A boyband could travel the globe without raising any red flags, and the image projected by the bands marketing was a better cover than could be generated naturally. 

The only problem was that for the plan to work, they had to appeal to their target audience, which meant that for all intents and purposes, they actually had to become a real boyband.  But he figured that if One Direction had managed it, then it couldn’t be all that hard. So he pushed open the door, to find eight sets of eyes staring at him. He offered them a nervous grin, and pushed a large had through his too-long hair.

“Steve Rogers, I presume.”  An almost unrealistically good-looking young woman enquired, with a perfectly arched eyebrow.  It took him longer than he would have liked to respond to her, and it was a tragically lacking reply at best.

“Yeah – uh – I…” he trailed off, looking desperately around the room for some salvation, but finding only blank looks.  The serum had forced his brain to work faster than it had done before, which meant there had been a significant improvement in his GPA, but also meant that he was adept at picking up a large amount of information with a cursory glance.

It was obvious that he was the last member to arrive.  Sam Wilson was easily identifiable, not only by his darker skin, but also by his welcoming smile and Stark was recognizable from just about every gossip column he had ever read – out of any of the other members, Stark was the one he feared he would have the most problems with.  The two other men, were both similar heights, with dark hair, but from the background information he had been given, he gathered that the more bookish looking of the two was Bruce Banner – a man with whom he had a shared past – which meant the younger of the two was Clint Barton.

Even at a glance he would see the genius in Fury’s plan.  They all filled a stereotype required in a boyband, and they were all young and attractive in their own way, (though Steve still found it odd that people saw him that way).  If any of them had any musical talent, he couldn’t foresee a problem in appealing to the average female audience.

“Well, Steven,” Sitwell dragged out his name, and it made him feel uneasy.  There was something about the older man that he just didn’t like, which was one of the reasons why he was suffering with trust issues where SHIELD were concerned.  “These are the rest of the boys…” Sam made a half strangled noise of disparagement and Sitwell corrected himself, “… men… we have put together.” Steve adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit he had developed in college as a way of dealing with sudden influx of wanton looks his new physique attracted.  “The plan is to run a trail recording session…” Sitwell gestured to a free seat, and he accepted quickly. “Since you were so late, Steve, I’ll just quickly brief you.” Opposite him, Stark rolled his eyes and Sam gave him a sympathetic look. “Tony has arranged accommodations for you in the city. You will have a month to prove that you can do this – if it proves viable we will get the ball rolling.”  Steve nodded his understanding, although he had not been aware they would be sharing a house, he had been living in SHIELD barracks for several months, and was used to the comings and goings of other people.

“Unless there are any further questions, we can leave your new team to brief you on the finer details.”  Fury added with a stern look that hardly invited any questions. He had many questions; however, since he was late it didn’t seem prudent to waste any more of their time so he shook his head.  “Excellent, Natasha will take you to your new apartment, and you will have the rest of the day to bond.” The director seemed pained at the mere notion of bonding but at least Steve had a name to put with the only person he hadn’t recognized in the room.

Bruce and Tony chatted animatedly between themselves, and Clint seemed to be content to follow behind silently.  Sam was the only one to make an effort to include him, which was hardly a promising omen, but then, he supposed, it wasn’t his job to make friends here.  Nevertheless, he appreciated the effort to include him.

“I’ve read a lot about you, Steve.”  Sam smiled. “You’re a man of many talents,” he added, with a half-smirk.

“I guess that’s why we’re all here.”  The blond shrugged, he was still decidedly unsure about the whole exercise, but he managed to offer his new colleague a faint-hearted smile.

“Speak for yourself; I’m here for the woman.”  Steve laughed despite himself, and Sam grinned as they followed the rest of the group to the elevator, tailed by Natasha, who was already watching their backs.

The elevator was small and rickety, almost definitely too small for the five full-grown men who climbed into it.  Bruce pushed himself into the corner as Natasha entered, and the tiny amount of personal space they had was eliminated.  Steve offered Bruce a reassuring smile and Bruce nodded his understanding of the gesture.

Despite the uneasy silence, Steve figured that someone had to say something.

“Are you okay?”  He offered simply.

“Uh, yeah,” Bruce answered carefully.  “Just a bit cramped in here, is all,” he added by way of explanation.  Even before he had finished the elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened, much to his obvious relief.  The group plodded out the door, straight through the reception and into the awaiting minivan. In hindsight, Steve guessed that he should have bought some clothes with him, since everyone else seemed to have done, but it wasn’t like he had far to go to get some, so he wasn’t too concerned.

“So, I guess we should get to know a little bit about each other then,” Sam spoke before Steve had even got in the car.  “I’ll go first,” he continued, and Tony merely turned to look out of the window. Suddenly, the assessment that Tony didn’t play well with others seemed like an understatement.  “I’m originally from New Orleans, but relocated to Washington a few years ago, and uh, I guess now I live in New York. I’ll be twenty-five this year – which I guess makes me ancient in this world – uh, but I’ll guess we’ll see.”  He grinned once more, and Steve couldn’t help but smile in response. The man was almost infectiously cheerful.

“Clint.  I’m a Capricorn, I like long walks on the beach, and I’m here because Fury promised me more money, good digs and his eternal gratitude.”  It was hardly a promising review of the situation, but Steve could understand his reticence to be part of the team, given the unusual requirements.

“Tony Stark.  Google me.” Tony replied without looking back at any of them, and Steve caught the briefest look at frustration passing over Natasha’s face.

“We all know who you are, Stark.”  She managed to make it sound like a scathing insult, which was vaguely impressive as far as he was concerned.

“Well, this is feeling more and more like some incredibly unhelpful self-help group.”  Bruce commented, and most of the car – Tony included – cracked a smile. “I’m twenty-six and feeling a little old right now to be honest,” he shrugged.

“Well I think you’re perfect, Brucie bear,” Tony replied sickly sweet.  And though the comment was somewhat sardonic, there was an affection that exposed an existing friendship.  Bruce rolled his eyes, and quickly changed the subject.

“Gotta ask, does anyone know anything about dancing?  Because… uh… I’m told that bands do that kind of thing these days.”  He looked a little concerned, and Steve wrinkled his nose. That was the aspect of this whole thing he was least looking forward to.  He had never been to a high school dance, and he had no real experience of the performance world. Sure, he could hold a tune well enough, and he could play guitar but dancing… dancing could be a real problem.

“Well, I have natural rhythm, so I’ll be sure to help you guys out,” Sam laughed easily, dancing a little in his seat.  Tony couldn’t help but feel that was slightly arrogant of him – but hey, who was he to talk – so he presented his own credentials.

“Been dancing since I was walking, ten years of lessons, and plenty of mother-son dances.  I’m sure I’ll keep up.” Tony shot Sam a challenging smirk, but the older man did not respond.

“Well, we’ll just put a bell on you and call you Justin Timberlake.”  Clint rolled his eyes. “I’m sure there won’t be that much dancing anyway.”  Steve couldn’t help but think that was wishful thinking but he didn’t vocalize his fears.

“I don’t think I’m that lucky.”  Bruce sighed, and the car descended into a contemplative silence, which more or less comfortable.

As the journey continued, the only problem, as far as Steve could see, was whether they could stand to be around each other.  Thus far, they had managed not to kill each other, which was a point for the positive column, but a few minutes in a car was a completely different ask than several months on the road, living in each other’s pockets.  To the outside world they were five young men – older than the average boyband – that were struggling to get their big break. And for the illusion to hold, they not only needed to perform musically, but also under the constant glare of media interest.  The mission was daring at best.

From a personal point of view, the situation was ideal.  He had struggled to keep down a regular job owing to his constantly tardiness and he had pushed himself to the fringes of society because he didn’t know who to trust.  However, the rest of the group had been briefed on his special attributes and as of yet, had no comment, so there was a chance that he could open up a little.

From a young age, his mother had taught him that if you could help then it was your duty to help, but that if you couldn’t then that didn’t make you a bad person.  The problem was, with his new abilities, he could help with most dangerous situations, and while that was good for those around him, it wasn’t necessarily conducive to his assimilation into the world around.  However, he genuinely wanted to help people, he just didn’t necessarily want the fame that came with that. Ironically, the only way to avoid that seemed to be to gain fame for something else. He was sure he could write a rousing commentary on the state of society documenting his situation as evidence that the world was a little too invested in the lives of other people to be entirely healthy, but that hardly seemed beneficial either.

Fury had offered him a way to help, to use his abilities to do some good, without completely losing his sense of self, and he couldn’t complain about that.

 

***

A month down the line, and things were not looking quite so bright.  Stark’s musical division had found some good songs, but the dance classes had proven to be almost as bad as Steve had worried they might be.  Tony, Sam and Clint seemed to excel at dancing. Bruce, however, was struggling, and given the older man’s anger management issues, Steve doubted whether Tony’s biting comments were appropriate.  Despite his reservations, he had found that choreography wasn’t nearly the challenge he thought it might be – most likely due to the enhancements afforded to him by the serum, but he kept himself in check, so that Bruce was not left to struggle on his own.

Elsewhere his frustrations lay with the fact that, thus far, they had not received any tactical training as a team, and instead they were forced to endure endless choreography and singing lessons.  He appreciated that they had to be deep undercover for the project to work, but he was only human and he did get annoyed.

As such, he spent increasingly long periods in the gym, boxing his way into sedation.  One of the  _ really _ good things about working with Tony was that he furnished them with the best of everything, from the excellent cappuccino machine in the communal kitchen, to the expensive LED TVs in their rooms and the impressive gym.  Steve couldn’t say he agreed with the guy’s mentality but he was generous host, to say the least.

“Steve, you in here?”  Bruce called as he entered the gym and Steve stopped his pulverization of the heavy bag.  The brunet stopped in his tracks, once he located Steve.

“Er… wow… um… you don’t… wow,” Bruce gestured up and down at Steve’s form.  Usually, he wore his standard attire of loose fitting shirts or hoodies, and while it was evident that he was fairly fit under those clothes, it was not as obvious as it was in form fitting wife beater he trained in.  In fact, that was the reason he shied away from such clothes, it tended to bring the wrong kind of attention. “You got a much better deal out of this than I did.” He looked at Bruce with a small amount of amusement, but felt the blush covering his cheeks spreading down to his neck.  It was good that Bruce was comfortable enough with his condition to joke about his misfortune, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

The issues that the Doctor’s had discovered with Bruce’s failed treatment had paved the way for the serum with which he was injected.  In a very real sense, Steve felt like he owned the older man his continued success. He felt his eyebrows knit together in his deliberation.

“Steve, you don’t have to look so guilty.”  Bruce said lightly, clapping him on the arm, and adding with a smile.  “But you do have to get a move on, we have thirty minutes to dance class and Tony will be  _ gutted _ if he missed any chance to point out my inadequacies,” he shook his head slightly, and smiled.

“You and me both, pal.”  Steve replied, and Bruce pulled a face.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do Steve, but we both know that you can do this.”  Steve opened his mouth in a denial. “I’ve spent the last eight years of my life studying the serum; trying to… rectify the problems… you don’t have to hold yourself back because you think I can’t cope with being ridiculed.”

“I didn’t mean…” Bruce cut him off.

“I know you didn’t.  But why should both of us suffer because I have a little trouble with my footwork?”  When the brunet put it like that, his argument was more than reasonable. “But, if you wanted to, I wouldn’t be adverse to some extra tuition.”  Steve nodded in agreement, then Bruce grinned. “I’m sure I will be spurred on by the image of Tony’s face when he realizes he’s got some competition.”  They shared a laugh. “But in all seriousness, we need to get going.”

“Give me a minute,” Steve replied, and jogged off to get changed.

 

***

Five days later, they had their first performance, which also came with its own inbuilt mission.  Steve couldn’t help but think that this was a little premature, but he guessed that they had been told from the outset that they will be required to perform on a very strict schedule or else the project would be getting canned.  He had read through the briefing pack several times the evening before, and he understood what part each other them played in it, how they needed to work as a team for it to flow smoothly.

The performance itself had gone as well as could be expected.  Bruce had only missed a few steps, and Clint had impressed with a series of amazing vocal runs.  The gathered test audience seemed suitably impressed by their performance, and Fury actually managed to crack a smile.  So, all things considered, Steve was pretty happy.

However, the gig was the simple part.

The uniform he had been given was hardly subtle.  For some reason, they had decided that he should wear a bright-blue skin-tight bodysuit.  Which was hardly stealthy, and even though it was the latest in lightweight body armor, did very little to help him feel anything but exposed.  Still, it could have been worse; the first incarnation of the suit had basically looked like someone had wrapped him in an American flag at least the second iteration was marked only by a star across his chest.

He took a few moments to look in the mirror and drink in his new look.  Suddenly, the whole concept seemed incredibly stupid, sure the specially designed cowl disguised his features, but he couldn’t help but think that people would connect the dots, when five heroes turned up in every city a ‘five piece male vocal harmony group’ did.

The first mission had fallen to him, and it was relatively simple.  SHIELD’s intelligence had picked up on an underground group how had been causing issues across New York for several months.  Initially they had stuck to relatively minor irritations such a malfunctioning digital signs in Time Square, but had escalated very quickly to malfunctioning traffic signals that had caused casualties and a brief blackout at Newark Airport, that had caused chaos for several hours afterwards. 

Locating the base had gone by the book, which was a nice surprise.  However, he should have realized that it could not be that simple. The group was both larger than the report suggested, and was much more heavily fortified.  SHIELD had provided him with a shield (he’d questioned whether it was standard issue, given their name and been informed it was one of a kind) and that was all he had by way a defense, after an electronic pulse had disabled his pulse rifle. 

Nevertheless, it had not gone completely to hell until Iron Man made his appearance.  He hadn’t been expecting back up, so to say it caught him by surprise was an understatement.  However, when he was thrown across the maintenance shaft with enough force to vibrate the ground and crack something – he guessed one of his ribs – he was plain astonished.

“What the hell?”  He yelled as he picked himself up, placing a cautious hand across his damaged ribs.

“I guess you picked the wrong day to cause trouble,” the digitized voice of Iron Man responded, and Steve blinked a few times.

“I’m on your team, damnit.”  Iron Man’s mask was devoid of any emotional reaction, but his silence was enough for Steve to realize what had happened.  He pulled back his cowl to reveal his face. “Did you even read your debrief pack?” He asked.

“I skimmed,” the voice was digitized, and Steve fixed the faceplate with a disbelieving look that ultimately caused Stark to retract it.  “I looked at the relevant bits.” Steve observed that it was odd to see the metal man shrug.

“Evidently not,” he replied through gritted teeth.  “Now, if you’re done helping the bad guys, we’ve got work to do.”  They pulled down their respective disguises and got to work.

Iron Man’s repulsors made quick work of the secure base, and they were soon neck deep in surprisingly skilled fighters.

“I thought these guys were cyber terrorists?”  Iron man asked, as Steve took down three men by making use of SHIELD’s training.  “And if you move like that, why the hell don’t you bring it in rehearsals?”

“Not the time Iron Man,” Steve responded as he headed further into the base.  His goal was to disable the computer system and disable as many operatives as possible ready for their extraction and incarceration and now that he had gained access that was exactly what he planned to do.

“But seriously…”

“Not – uh – now.”  He replied as he dodged a knife attack by flipping the assailant over his shoulder. 

In their rush get the job done, they made a fatal error.  The next attack was already in progress. Sadly, neither of them appreciated this fact before they destroyed the communications bay.  Steve silenced the laughing hacker with a quick hit of his shield and then stared in horror at the screen. The group had disabled a number 7 train, and it remained stranded in between stations, sadly the rest of the network had been left to run, and the failed train wasn’t registering on the transport associations system as stopped.

“We’ve got a problem.” 

“Well, I’m a genius… oh.”  Tony flipped up the face plate and looked at the screen, before taking in the damaged transmission pod.  “Yeah, we’ve got a problem.” They looked at each other.

“We’ve gotta stop that train.”  They said together. Stark grabbed him by the back of the suit and yanked him through the maintenance shaft to deposit him near the broken train.  “Clear the train, I’ll try and stop it.” Steve nodded, and yanked open the door to the darkened carriage. Thankfully, it was not at full capacity.

“Everyone follow me.”  There were a few blank expressions, and who could blame them, he looked like he belonged in a comic book.  Nevertheless, he rushed to the end of the carriage and pulled the doors apart. “There’s another train coming along the track, and if you don’t get out of here you’re all going to die.  So follow me.” In hindsight, that probably hadn’t been the best thing to say to not cause a panic, but you live and you learn. As three people pushed past him, he decided that next time he would be a little less forthcoming with the truth.

The gathering crowd worked quickly through the carriage, until they reached the coupling of the cars and Steve forced open the emergency door.  He was loathed to set civilians running along a darkened subway tunnel but he had little choice. Still, he worked on the next carriage and hoped that Tony was having slightly better luck than him.

His answer came with a horrific squealing and scrunch of metal as the end carriage was crushed in on itself, just as he cleared the third carriage.  Fortunately, though the damage to the final carriage was extensive, there appeared to be little damage to the moving train. Iron Man, however, was laid prone on the floor inside.  Quickly, he pulled open the door and made his way to his almost-friend.

“Iron Man!”  He barely recognized his own voice under the concern filling it.

“Urgh.” Steve was relieved to hear the groan.  “As it turns out cutting the power to the system doesn’t immediately stop the trains.  A little thing called forward momentum. Had to get my hands dirty.” He groaned again.  He sat up and looked at the destruction surrounding him. The tail section of the stationary train was a twisted mess, but the moving trained seemed largely intact, if a bit crumpled.

“I’d say it’s better than the alternative.”  Steve admitted. From inside the second train the driver looked at them both in disbelief.  Steve offered the man a salute and he returned the acknowledgement with a small wave.

***

Three broken arms, seven broken ribs, one shattered pelvis, a broken femur and two dozen concussions, didn’t seem like a high price to pay when it could have been hundreds dead.  It was certainly good enough figures for Steve to chalk it up as a win – even if two of the broken ribs had been his.

Natasha, as it turned out, was a well-trained assassin in her own right, and her skill set was highly advanced.  Steve couldn’t help but feel like SHIELD were wasting a perfectly good agent on what amounted to a glorified babysitting job, but Fury was in charge and he probably had his reasons.  Still, Steve had to admit that it was pretty damn funny when she floored Tony with a single punch, and walked off muttering something being provided with briefs for a reason.

“So, just so that we’re all clear,” Fury addressed the group, sounding highly unimpressed.  “You,” he gestured between the five men, “are part of a covert operations team known as The Avengers.  Codenames: Captain America, Falcon, Hawkeye, Hulk and Iron Man respectively.” He fixed Tony with his one good eye, and the billionaire had the good graces to look vaguely chastised, which was a first.  Clint and Sam exchanged an amused glance. “Just so we’re all clear.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed at Stark. The silence was almost overbearing. “And now, you have an album to record.”

 


End file.
